Publish and be damned..
Being the overly critical creature that I am, I've never really held my own writing in very high regard. I tend to look at other people's work and get the impression that (comparatively speaking), what I produce resembles the textual version of takeaway food.
However, after quite an interesting (and rather cathartic), chat with some close friends of mine on the weekend, my grammatical self-confidence has been boosted quite significantly.
Again, thank you to those responsible. You know who you are.
Buoyed by this intrepidity, I have therefore decided to take the plunge and embark on something I've been promising to do for a number of years. A journalism course. Granted I will have to do it online, as my current schedule of trying to complete a project management diploma whilst working full time five days a week plus DJ'ing Fri and Sat night leaves me just about enough time to shower in the mornings, give myself a nasty case of indigestion, then drive like to work like a P-plater on crystal meth. The other consequence of this situation is that if I spend too long in the shower, the time required to put on pants becomes a luxury I can ill afford.
Oh well, you can't say I'm not making friends.
*fade to black*
*fade in*
....It's one week later, where I'm now in the process of perusing the mountain of glossy correspondence that has arrived on my doorstep. Having only applied to five schools, I am staggered by the sheer volume of propaganda that stands between me and literary greatness. Somewhere an Amazonian pygmy silently weeps.
Nevertheless, I pick up a pamphlet, and pore over the various benefits and life-changing opportunities afforded within. The phrase "hurry, numbers are limited!", leaps off the page at me. I resist the almost Pavlovian response to crash-tackle my phone and immediately start dialling the toll-free number before the millions of others clamouring for the course snap up the few remaining available spots.
I also fail to 'hurry while stocks last!!', get in the slightest bit upset that I will 'never see deals like this again!!", or lose any sleep at all over the fact that 'my business is their priority'.
In the process of marvelling at the testimony of 'Andrew from Adelaide', who recently completed the course and landed a job with a newspaper almost immediately, I am also awestruck by the attestations included by 'Lindsay of Albury', who is about to have her first work published in a nationally syndicated magazine.
Of course, I do have a sneaking suspicion that Andrew is probably working as a dishwasher in the Fairfax cafe, and Lindsay will be forced to go to ground after the majority of her friends realise she's written a piece on 'the joys of erotic asphyxiation' for Zoo magazine.
Nevertheless, I shall persevere.
At this point, I feel it only pertinent to ask the readers of this sporadically updated journal to offer their own opinions, suggestions or criticisms regarding this idea.
Please, be blunt, be frank, but most of all, be honest. I'm a big boy, and I can take it.
And besides, anti-depressants are only a doctor's visit away.
Posted on 10:51 AM by thenewbeige and filed under | 0 Comments »
However, after quite an interesting (and rather cathartic), chat with some close friends of mine on the weekend, my grammatical self-confidence has been boosted quite significantly.
Again, thank you to those responsible. You know who you are.
Buoyed by this intrepidity, I have therefore decided to take the plunge and embark on something I've been promising to do for a number of years. A journalism course. Granted I will have to do it online, as my current schedule of trying to complete a project management diploma whilst working full time five days a week plus DJ'ing Fri and Sat night leaves me just about enough time to shower in the mornings, give myself a nasty case of indigestion, then drive like to work like a P-plater on crystal meth. The other consequence of this situation is that if I spend too long in the shower, the time required to put on pants becomes a luxury I can ill afford.
Oh well, you can't say I'm not making friends.
*fade to black*
*fade in*
....It's one week later, where I'm now in the process of perusing the mountain of glossy correspondence that has arrived on my doorstep. Having only applied to five schools, I am staggered by the sheer volume of propaganda that stands between me and literary greatness. Somewhere an Amazonian pygmy silently weeps.
Nevertheless, I pick up a pamphlet, and pore over the various benefits and life-changing opportunities afforded within. The phrase "hurry, numbers are limited!", leaps off the page at me. I resist the almost Pavlovian response to crash-tackle my phone and immediately start dialling the toll-free number before the millions of others clamouring for the course snap up the few remaining available spots.
I also fail to 'hurry while stocks last!!', get in the slightest bit upset that I will 'never see deals like this again!!", or lose any sleep at all over the fact that 'my business is their priority'.
In the process of marvelling at the testimony of 'Andrew from Adelaide', who recently completed the course and landed a job with a newspaper almost immediately, I am also awestruck by the attestations included by 'Lindsay of Albury', who is about to have her first work published in a nationally syndicated magazine.
Of course, I do have a sneaking suspicion that Andrew is probably working as a dishwasher in the Fairfax cafe, and Lindsay will be forced to go to ground after the majority of her friends realise she's written a piece on 'the joys of erotic asphyxiation' for Zoo magazine.
Nevertheless, I shall persevere.
At this point, I feel it only pertinent to ask the readers of this sporadically updated journal to offer their own opinions, suggestions or criticisms regarding this idea.
Please, be blunt, be frank, but most of all, be honest. I'm a big boy, and I can take it.
And besides, anti-depressants are only a doctor's visit away.
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